Читать книгу Almost Dead - Блейк Пирс - Страница 4

Staring at the empty store, Cassie felt crushed by disappointment. She knew she should leave, walk away into the dark, damp evening and start the long journey back to her car, but she couldn’t bring herself to go.

It was as if turning away now meant giving up forever, and when she thought about it in that way, her feet felt rooted to the spot. She couldn’t shake the certainty that there must still be something, somehow, that would lead her to Jacqui.

Looking around, she saw one of the neighboring shops was still open. It looked to be a coffee shop and bistro. Perhaps somebody there would know who the owner of Cartoleria was, and where he or she had gone.

Cassie headed into the bistro, relieved to find shelter from the gusty rain. The interior smelled deliciously of coffee and bread, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten today. A massive chrome cappuccino machine stood in pride of place on the wooden counter.

There was space for only four tables inside, and all of them were occupied. There was an empty seat at the bar, though, so she sat there.

The harassed-looking waiter rushed over to her.

“Cosa prendi?” he asked.

Cassie guessed he wanted to take her order.

“Sorry, I don’t speak Italian,” she apologized, hoping he understood her. “Do you know who owned the shop next door?”

The young man shrugged, looking puzzled.

“I can bring you food?” he asked in broken English.

Realizing that the language barrier had brought an end to her questioning, Cassie quickly scanned the menu scribbled on the black chalkboard on the back wall.

“Coffee, please. And a panini.”

She peeled some notes from the shrinking stash in her wallet. The prices in Milan were even higher than she’d expected, but it was getting late and she was starving.

“You are Americana?” the man sitting next to her asked.

Impressed, Cassie nodded.

“Yes, I am.”

“My name is Vadim,” he introduced himself.

He didn’t sound Italian, but her ear for accents was not nearly as good as his. She guessed he might be from somewhere in Eastern Europe, or perhaps even Russia.

“I’m Cassie Vale,” she replied.

He looked to be a few years older than her, which put him in his late twenties, and he was wearing a leather jacket and jeans. In front of him was a half-finished glass of red wine.

“You are on holiday here? Or working, studying?” he asked.

“I’ve actually traveled here to find somebody.”

The confession felt painful, now that Cassie feared she never would.

His thick brows drew together in a frown.

“How do you mean, find? Find someone in particular?”

“Yes. My sister.”

“You make it sound as if she is lost?” he asked.

“She is. I followed a clue which I hoped would help me find her. A while ago, she called my friend in the States, and we traced the number.”

“So you traced the caller ID and came here? That is some detective work,” Vadim said admiringly, as the waiter slid her coffee across the counter.

“No, I was too slow. You see, she called twice looking for me. The first number didn’t work at all. I only realized last week that the other call might have been made from a different number.”

Vadim nodded sympathetically.

“And now, Cartoleria is closed,” Cassie told him.

“The shop next door?”

“Yes. That was where she phoned from. I’m hoping to find out who owned it.”

He frowned.

“I know Cartoleria is a chain of stores. There are others elsewhere in Milan. It is an Internet café and sells—pens, pencils, those items.”

“Stationery,” Cassie suggested.

“Yes, that is it. Perhaps if you call another store, they could help you find the manager of this one.”

The waiter returned and set a plate down in front of her, and Cassie dug in hungrily.

“You have traveled here all alone?” Vadim asked.

“Yes, I came here on my own, hoping to find Jacqui.”

“Why are you the one looking for her, and she is not looking for you, too?”

“We had a difficult childhood,” she told him. “My mother died when she was young and my father didn’t cope without her. He became very angry, as if he wanted to destroy everyone’s lives.”

Vadim nodded sympathetically.

“Jacqui was older than me, and one day, she just left. I don’t think she could handle it anymore. His anger, the shouting, broken glass on the floor most mornings. He had many different girlfriends, and there were often strangers in the house.”

A dark memory surfaced of herself, hiding under the bed late at night, listening to heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and the fumbling at her door. Jacqui had saved her. She’d screamed so loud that the neighbors had come running, and the man had sneaked back down the stairs. Cassie remembered the terror she’d felt as she’d heard him rattle the bedroom door. Jacqui had been her protector, until she’d run away.

“After she left, I moved out, and then my dad got evicted and had to find different lodgings. I got a new phone. He got a new phone. There was no way for her to contact us again. Now I think she’s trying to reach out. But she’s scared, and I don’t know why. Perhaps she thinks I’ll be angry because she ran away.”

Vadim shook his head.

“So you are all alone in the world?”

Cassie nodded, feeling sad all over again.

“Can I buy you a glass of wine?”

Cassie shook her head.

“Thanks so much, but I have to drive.”

Her car was a forty-five-minute walk away. From there, she had no idea where to go. She’d made no plans for accommodations. She’d been hoping to arrive earlier, and that the shop would provide a clue to Jacqui’s whereabouts, and she could then take the next step in her search. Now it was dark, and she had no idea where an affordable inn or hostel might be. She realized she might end up sleeping in her car, in the concrete parking garage.

“Have you accommodations for tonight?” Vadim asked, as if reading her mind.

Cassie shook her head.

“I still have to figure that out.”

“There is a backpacker lodge close by. A pensione, as they say here in Italy. It might be convenient for you. I pass it on my way home; I can show you where it is.”

Cassie smiled tentatively, worried about the price and also the fact that all her luggage was still in her car. Even so, accommodations nearby sounded more appealing than the long walk back to the parking lot. There was even a chance Jacqui might have stayed in those lodgings, in which case she should at least check it out.

She drained her coffee and ate the last crumbs of her panini, while Vadim finished his wine and sent some messages on his phone.

“Come with me. This way.”

It was still raining outside, but Vadim opened a big umbrella and Cassie walked close beside him, grateful for its shelter. Clearly in a hurry, he marched along so that she had to rush to keep pace with him. She was glad they weren’t dawdling, but at the same time she wondered if this guesthouse was out of his way and if he was making a detour in order to help her.

She caught glimpses of the surrounding buildings as they passed, trying to get an impression of where they were. Names of restaurants, stores, and businesses glowed and flashed in the misty drizzle; the unfamiliar language made Cassie feel as if her senses were overloaded.

They crossed a street and she realized that the traffic had died down. Although she hadn’t checked the time for a while, she thought it must be well after seven p.m. She felt exhausted, and wondered how far away the backpackers’ lodge was, and what she would do if they had no space available.

The sign on their right was a supermarket, she was sure. On the left, perhaps it was an entertainment of some kind. The sign flashed bright with neon. Not the red light district—if such a thing even existed in Milan—but not too far away from it, either.

She suddenly realized that they had gone too far, too fast, and all in silence.

They must have been walking for nearly a mile, beyond what any reasonable person would consider close by.

It was then that her memory caught up.

After the first crossroads, she had glanced left. Distracted and with the rain in her eyes she hadn’t taken in the sign she had seen—not a large, flashing notice but a more modest sign with black lettering on white.

“Pensione.”

That was the word Vadim had used. That was the Italian for backpackers’ lodge, or at any rate a close equivalent.

“Why are you slowing?” he asked, and now his tone was sharp.

Ahead, Cassie saw the blaze of waiting headlights. There was a white van parked on the opposite side of the street. It looked like Vadim was heading directly toward it.

He reached out and in a split second of pure terror, Cassie realized that he had sensed her hesitation, and was going to grab her arm.